


The Art of Love

by Tamasha



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Art, Cute, Drunkenness, Emotions, Feels, Gay, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Modern Era, One Night Stands, Painting, Pining Arthur, Relationship(s), Shakespeare Quotations, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5422433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamasha/pseuds/Tamasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aspiring painter Merlin wakes up to find his drunken one night stand asleep in his bed. He doesn't even remember this gorgeous blond stranger. But Arthur ends up getting under his skin in the long run, and you know the rest! ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's in a Name

**Author's Note:**

> written by Tamara

‘Hangovers are the worst’, Merlin decided as he rolled over, pulling his blanket over him. Well, he tried to pull it, but something heavy was - ‘shit’. Merlin didn’t think he drank that much last night, but apparently he blacked out at some point. He didn’t even remember meeting the blond man in his bed. The dim early morning light crept quietly into the room, lighting the stranger’s face delicately enough to enhance his already gorgeous features. Even drunk, Merlin had good taste.

He smiled proudly at his sleeping mistake. Merlin didn’t do this often, but when he did he liked to try and decide what kind of one night stand it would be before it played itself out. He possibly would never hear from the man again. That was typical. Or maybe the blond would be really clingy and want a relationship immediately. Merlin could be forced to get a restraining order on him if things got too bad. Maybe Merlin would be the clingy one, because holy fuck this man was hot. Then again, the guy could be totally normal and simply want to get breakfast.

Merlin hated breakfast. He loved breakfast food, it was just the idea of getting up earlier than noon never appealed to Merlin. And he could get away with it too, being an artist. Late night gallery parties with nothing to do before the PM hours meant it was a rare occurrence for Merlin to even be awake before 12:30. He looked at his alarm clock - that had never really been used besides telling Merlin the time - it read 9:30. Fuck. Way too early.

Merlin groaned as the night started to return to him in foggy pieces. Morgana had handed him about 7 different drinks, all containing what Merlin guessed was only rat poison. He had wanted to forget about losing his deal with the Pendragon Fine Arts, but only succeeded in forgetting who this man was in his bed. The last thing he remembered was yelling at Gwaine about how he would be painting houses for the rest of his life, which made his friend snort with laughter. Morgana had brought him to the gallery to meet Uther Pendragon, but the haughty business entrepreneur who pretended to care about art to make a living hadn’t come to the gala. Instead, he sent an email to Morgana informing her that he would not be accepting new artists for that season.

Despite Merlin knowing how impossible it was to get onto the walls of the Pendragon Gallery, even if it was just for one night, Merlin had really thought he had a chance. Not only did Morgana make it sound like it was a done deal, but Merlin was really confident with his portfolio as of late. He had started to play around with realism - something nine-teen year old Merlin would have rolled his eyes about. ‘It’s all about dada,’ Merlin could hear himself say to his equally gothic-loving friend, Will. But since moving to London, Merlin felt inspiration flow through his brush making him paint new things that he had never imagined before. He loved his art, recently, and to have some ass, Uther Pendragon, tell him he wasn’t good enough, was… well… it sucked.

Pulling at the sheets again, Merlin made the blond moan in disapproval. "Merlin," he groaned.

‘Well fuck’. Merlin must have been much more drunk than the other man last night because apparently the blond knew who Merlin was. Names were exchanged at some point, and Merlin would be expected to remember the guy’s name before breakfast. No, they weren't going to be getting breakfast.

"Go back to sleep," Merlin suggested hesitantly. He had no idea what to say to the stranger. How had he forgotten meeting such a beautiful specimen? That jawline could cut a steak, and those lips were irresistible. Merlin moved in closer to the blond and smelled him. His scent was that of sweat and a fruity liquor. He was gorgeous.

Suddenly one night stands seemed like a totally horrible idea. Why sleep with someone if you don't even know their name? But he did know his name at some point. He must have. James? Why couldn’t Merlin think of any other name besides James!?

"Meeeerlin." Maybe the blond was talking in his sleep. Since he wasn’t responding to Merlin - Merlin smiled. He probably had forgotten Merlin’s name too and he was just dreaming about a different Merlin. That was it. That was totally it.

That was stupid. Who the hell else would name their child “Merlin” besides Hunith Emrys? Merlin burrowed his face deeply into his pillow. Why couldn’t one night stands just last the night? The morning after was never good. No matter how smooth one is, you can't avoid the awkwardness of the morning after a one night stand. In addition, Merlin was the furthest thing from smooth. This was going to be a disaster, and Merlin didn't even know the man's name. To make it all worse, they were probably going to end up getting breakfast. Fuck.

While Merlin was plotting his escape from his own bed, the blond rolled to his side, flinging his arm over Merlin’s waist. The contact, though clearly familiar to the blond, was new to Merlin. It made Merlin jump unexpectedly, which was odd because normally Merlin was not one to shy away from physical contact. The man opened his eyes a crack, squinting at Merlin. "Good morning."

Merlin’s right leg was on the floor, ready to lead him on his bolt. "Yeah... you too."

He was just about to slip out when the man spoke, "Do you want to get breakfast?"             

"Sure," Merlin heard himself saying. He cringed at his own words, bringing himself out from under the covers. He was a right idiot. The man - who Merlin was now going to refer to as James - had gotten him to agree to breakfast. It was all because of those ridiculously perfect blue eyes that looked at him and seemed to shine in the dim light of the early morning.

A right idiot indeed.

 

IHOP served the best pancakes. Merlin had never known how delicious pancakes could be. Maybe this is why people got out of bed before noon, pancakes were the best. Merlin had had pancakes before, but always late at night when Denny’s was the only place open, and always drunk from the night's gala. Drunken pancakes were not the same as sober-morning-after-wake-up pancakes.

"How's the food?" James asked casually without looking from his own flapjacks.

"So good." Merlin shoved another bite in his mouth and moaned in satisfaction.

This made James laugh. "That sounds familiar."

Merlin’s eyes flew open as Merlin stopped chewing. "What!?" But Merlin didn’t think he really wanted the answer to that.

The blond man shook his head and smiled. "I'm just messing with you, but you were pretty loud."

"God, why are we talking about this?" Merlin whined. "Do you always talk like this the morning after?"

The man smiled again, but it was a bit more sad. "No, it was just last night… We were. I don’t know. I thought you would think that was funny."

Merlin knew how he was in bed -especially when drunk - and given the fact that this man was an angel sent from Gorgeous Heaven, Merlin could see himself talking really dirty. Fine, maybe Merlin had brought this on himself. Stupid drunk-Merlin. Always getting hungover-Merlin into all sorts of trouble.

“No, it’s fine. It just caught me off guard, I suppose. We are in an IHOP.” Glancing around the restaurant carefully, Merlin smiled, hoping he had ironed that out smoothly. The smile Merlin received told him that he had.

“Sorry, Merlin.” The man kept using Merlin’s name repeatedly. At this point, Merlin was convinced that he knew Merlin had forgotten his name and was trying to get Merlin to admit to it. He never would. He couldn’t admit he didn’t remember a single thing about this man.

"You are very interesting," Merlin finally said softly, not really knowing why. But the man was interesting, and Merlin didn’t like secrets.

"Not what you expected?" James said, going back to his food.

Merlin wondered if possibly he knew this man before last night. There was something strangely familiar about him, but Merlin couldn’t place it. It wasn’t just the fact that the man looked like he could be on a magazine cover, but the way he talked to Merlin, like they had met before, it made Merlin wonder just how many drunken nights he had forgotten. "I don’t know what I expected," Merlin admitted truthfully.

After breakfast, James drove Merlin back to his place. Apparently they had taken James' car there last night from the gallery. Merlin wasn’t sure where his car had ended up, but he didn’t tell James that. He was too embarrassed. Drunk-Merlin was really making Merlin look horrible. He just wanted this morning to be over with as soon as possible. James was far too attractive for a one night stand and far too polite, and funny and... it was too confusing and Merlin just wanted it to end.

By some miracle, Merlin had avoided the man's name the whole morning. James went in for a hug goodbye, and Merlin was almost free. "It was nice to meet you, Merlin." He pulled away and took out his phone. He looked as if he was going to say something about it, but judged it best to remain quiet. Merlin stared at his lips momentarily till the man spoke again, "See you around?"

"Sure thing, James." Merlin sputtered. ‘Fuck shit hell. James? Really?’ Merlin just wanted to shrink into the sidewalk. Fuck.

The man's reaction was so calm, for a moment Merlin thought maybe his name was actually James. But then the man's expression changed to confusion quickly enough. "You don’t know who I am, do you?"

"I whaaaat!? Sure I do. You are.... you're great. We had sex last night. And sex.... um. I know your name. Names are boring though. I mean mine is stupid, so why don't you just forget it. Why don't we both forget the other’s name. Yeah, good idea. What’s your name?" Not-James broke into a loud guffaw.

He kept laughing till Merlin finally cleared his throat, bringing the blond back to reality. "Oh my god. It's true what they say about you: you really are only good at painting. Well painting and…” He winked at Merlin, sending butterflies to Merlin’s stomach. “Anyway, talking is definitely not your strong point." He wiped away a tear that had formed in his fit of laughter.

Merlin scowled. "Okay so I was really drunk last night. Give me a break."

"It's Arthur."

"Oh. Hi Arthur..." Merlin started, questionably.

"Pendragon." The street around them seemed to freeze. For a moment the whole world stopped and Merlin felt like more than just the biggest idiot on the planet. Arthur fucking Pendragon!?

"Well fucking shit," Merlin breathed making Arthur laugh again. Not as much as before, but enough to bring back the uncomfortableness. "Are you serious? I slept with Arthur Pendragon last night? I must have been really drunk... like, holy hell."

"I don't know if that is a good or bad thing." Arthur scowled a bit as he stared at Merlin. He wasn’t laughing anymore.

"Stupid. That's for sure. I'm trying to make a name for myself and the first thing I do is sleep with Uther Pendragon’s son. The fucking night I am turned away by the very man. What the hell is wrong with me!?"

Arthur was still for a moment. "Stop cursing so much."

"What!?"

"Just calm down, Merlin." He placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder that was meant to be comforting, but Merlin wasn’t having any of the Pendragon bull-shit.

"Look, Pendragon, I can freak out if I want to. In fact, I have every right to. If anyone were to hear about this… fuck, if Morgana found out -"

Arthur’s eyes widened. "Morgana!? You know Morgana?"

Merlin took a deep breath, realizing he was overreacting - slightly. "I met her a few weeks ago. She saw my work in the Round Gallery and said she wants to be my manager. I accepted because I only moved here four months ago and I don’t -"

"Morgana Le Fay is your manager?" Arthur interrupted. “Really? She didn’t tell me.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes; he didn’t like where this was going. “What do you mean?”

"She's my half sister." Arthur said, as if it was the most obvious thing.

Merlin could have sent his eyes flying with how quickly he rolled them. Just his fucking luck. “You have got to be joking. No wonder she thought she could get me into the Pendragon Gallery. Wait, on your mother or father’s side?”

“Uther is our father.”

An angry stir in Merlin’s stomach made him burst out laughing almost as much as Arthur was only moments ago. Now Arthur looked irritated. “If Uther’s own daughter can’t get me onto those walls then I really don’t have a chance, do I?”

Merlin was mostly talking to himself at this point, but Arthur still responded. “That’s not true. Morgana doesn’t really pick up artists off the street. She researches them thoroughly before bringing them to Uther. And though her and Father don’t have the best relationship, he respects her choices and gives her selections a fair opportunity.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better. In fact, it makes things worse because it was simply my art that made him choose someone else.” Merlin's hands flew to his face. “Bloody hell.”

“It’s like I told you last night: Uther doesn’t know a thing about art. It’s just because you aren’t a recognizable name, yet. Next season he will -”

“Wait,” Merlin interjected. “Last night? We talked about this last night…”

Arthur’s cheeks reddened and he looked down. “Yeah, last night after I told you how much I liked your art, you went on this same tangent. I thought you… I didn’t know you were that drunk.”

“Oh,” Merlin said softly. “I don’t remember much of last night.”

There was a long moment of silence before Arthur continued. “You are very talented, Merlin. Don’t let my father make you think otherwise. He runs his venues like a business, he doesn’t care about the art.”

“You know my work?” Merlin suddenly realized that Arthur Pendragon had no business knowing who Merlin was. He had only lived in London for four months. Plus, based off of what he knew of Arthur, he was a director or something. He didn’t care about painting, did he?

Arthur blushed again and smiled awkwardly at Merlin. “You were at the Camelot Gala five weeks ago. I saw your piece of that man on the subway. I told you I liked the depiction of London that most people ignored. You said you hated the shadows then stumbled away. I didn’t expect you to remember that, but I did. I went home and looked up all your work from Ealdor and even found some of your earlier work. I just…” He shook his head. “Anyway, I am glad Morgana found you, you’ll have some real luck finding some good work. You won’t need the job I offered you last night.”

“What job?” Merlin blurted out quickly. He hadn’t had a job in weeks, and though his rent was paid it would have been nice to have a little extra food in the fridge this month. “You offered me a job last night?”

“Umm,” Arthur scratched the back of his head. “I need someone to paint sets for my upcoming play. The man, Alator, who normally does it has moved back to Ireland. I just need someone to finish up some of the details. It’s nothing big, it’s just… I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

It could have been because Merlin really did need the money, it could have been because he was still upset about not getting the deal with Uther, it could have even been because Arthur was a Pendragon and it could lead to good networking, but Merlin smiled, knowing that he would agree to this job because Arthur had looked so damn adorable scratching his head like that, sun lighting up his golden hair, and white t-shirt being just transparent enough to remind Merlin of the image he had woken up to this morning. “Sure,” Merlin smiled graciously. “I’ll do it.”


	2. To Be Or Not To Be

When Arthur told Merlin about the job, there were four weeks before opening night and much more work that needed to be done than Arthur had led Merlin to believe. He spent most of his nights in the Pendragon Theatre - Uther was not good at naming his buildings, his concert hall was named Pendragon Concert hall, what a surprise. He hated the big empty stage at night after all the actors had left. Some of the crew members would stick around for some time, offering help to Merlin, but he didn’t want help; he wanted to make sure it was done right.

It was a Tuesday night, probably well after midnight, when Merlin lost track of the time while he was working on the vines of the balcony. He hated the balcony scene, but he always wondered why there were never any roses climbing up the walls to Juliet’s room. Romeo references a rose, but Merlin had never seen a play with any roses in that scene. Red was an obvious choice, Merlin usually hated being obvious, but it was in the spirit of the play to be overly cliché, plus, Merlin really liked red roses.

“You’re still here?” From the back of the theatre Merlin heard Arthur’s voice ring to the stage. The acoustics in here were amazing, Merlin noted as he finished up a leaf.

Placing his brush neatly on his pallette, Merlin looked over his shoulder at the man approaching him. Since starting this job several days ago, Merlin had mostly been in contact with the stage manager. He hadn’t seen much of Arthur. Being the director of a play must have kept him busy, but Merlin was certain he had been avoiding this interaction. “Yeah, I couldn’t stop. Why are you here so late?”

Arthur pulled himself onto the stage, he was looking at Merlin’s work in front of him, not at Merlin himself. “Came to lock-up and saw the work lights were still on. I thought maybe Elyan had forgotten to flick them off again.” He was absent-mindedly talking; his attention fixed on what Merlin had been working on.

“I still have to work on a few more, then I need to figure out lighting. Moonlight is hard to get right if you’re not careful. Where are the stage lights going to be? Have you mapped out lighting for this scene?”

Arthur didn’t take his eyes off the wall, he stepped closer, his mouth gaping a little bit. “How do you do it? It’s so…” He was close enough to touch it, he reached out his arm, making Merlin jump to stop him.

“It’s still wet.” Arthur blinked at Merlin, as if he had just woken up from a trance. “The paint,” Merlin clarified.

“Right.” Arthur pulled his hand away from Merlin’s contact. “It looks good. Lights will be coming from stage left. We are going to have a moonlight effect so it will be a dark blue hue. Clean up when you are done, and don't forget the lights.”

He was gone before Merlin could even process what had just happened. Arthur seemed flustered and slightly offended. Not that it mattered. Merlin didn’t really need Arthur to be polite to him, but there was something else going on there. Arthur was almost hurt. Merlin shook his head to clear his mind. With a sigh he picked up his brush and began painting again.

When he was finished, he cleaned up and made sure to shut off the lights.

 

‘For the love of Vincent Van Gogh! Who’s calling at 7:00 am!?’ Merlin pushed his phone onto the carpeted floor under his nightstand. That silenced the irritating vibrations that had woken Merlin up. He rolled over again, hugging his pillow. Though it was quieter, Merlin could still hear his phone vibrating against the floor. With a sigh, Merlin reached for his mobile.

“This better be good,” he spat into the receiver.

“Oh, it is.” The familiar voice of his manager rang in Merlin’s ears, causing him to sit up.

“What is it, Morgana?”

Merlin could tell she had taken a moment to smile before continuing. She was more proud of herself than of Merlin, but if it was truly good news, Merlin would take his manager’s selfishness. “Cenred wants you for the season, he said he would display a new piece each week, then in October, he wants to dedicate an entire gala to your work. He says he wants it London themed. The Realism of London,” Morgana said grandly. “He’s excited to have you on board and is offering a generous amount. Plus, he said if you come up with some new work that is even half as good as your portfolio, he will double it in October.”

“Holy fuck shit. Are you serious!?” Merlin jumped out of bed, running for his calendar. “Do you have the dates? Oh my god. Cenred! I don’t know what to say, this is fantastic!”

Morgana chuckled. “I told you I’d be a good manager.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell me the dates of the galas. Holy shit, this is amazing!”

His manager laughed again and there was the sound of papers shuffling on the other end. “You keep saying that. Ah, here we are. Let’s see, this Saturday, September 12th, and the 18th. Then -”

“18th?” Merlin asked. The 18th was already outlined in red and said: ‘Opening Night’ in little blue bubble letters. “Hm,” Merlin grunted softly. “Well, I’m sure that will be fine.”

“It will be more than fine,” Morgana beamed. “It will be amazing, remember? Now I need you to stop by my studio today so we can go over your work. I think you’ll need to come up with something special for the one on the 25th, because Mordred is rumored to be in London that weekend, and there is a good chance he will be at Cenred’s gala.”

Agreeing to follow up once he had processed everything, Merlin hung up. He fell back onto his bed and let out a puff of air. He was simply painting sets for the play, once that was over, he didn’t need to worry about his attendance. It was a week before hell week and he was nearly finished. Merlin rubbed his eyes. If his client was anyone else, other than Arthur Pendragon, Merlin wouldn’t have worried so much about it. But he found himself feeling inexplicably guilty.

He stared at his phone for a long time before pressing send on a text to Arthur: ‘Can’t make it to rehearsal today. Sorry. I’ll be by after to finish up some stuff.’

 

The theatre was dark when Merlin got there. After sending Arthur that text Merlin had went back to sleep for 6 more hours and didn’t even get to Morgana’s till 2. Once he was there, of course, Morgana was hungry so they didn’t even start working till 4. She had a lot she wanted him to do, apparently. Merlin wasn’t sure if it was as big of a deal as Morgana was making it, but it certainly was the biggest deal Merlin had ever entered into, so he wasn’t going to take it lightly. She then brought him to meet Cenred. Merlin wasn’t expecting to go to a gala that night, but he had gone so he could meet the man himself. He raved over Merlin’s work and kept saying how exciting this upcoming season would be.

Something about the whole day seemed off. Merlin knew that this was what he wanted, but there was something about singing papers pertaining to his paintings that was a little unappealing. Merlin hadn’t really understood the business side of the industry, though he trusted Morgana, he wanted to know exactly what he was getting himself into. But once he entered the theatre a calm overtook Merlin, and he was suddenly excited to paint again.

He lost track of what he was painting. Hours passed and Merlin could only keep time by the amount of times he needed to use the bathroom. He didn’t want to ever stop painting though, didn’t want to let go of this feeling. It was the same feeling he got when he first realized the magic he could create with a brush. The feeling he got when he had painted his first full canvas. The feeling he got when he received an A in his first art class in high school. It was an uncontrollable feeling of exhilaration that made him feel alive, brought him into his work and out of the waking world. He lived for these moments of pure inspiration. It was his vice. Sleep could wait, because if Merlin could paint, nothing else really mattered. Reality was long forgotten in times like this, and it took a lot to bring Merlin round again.

“Merlin.” A distantly familiar voice called. “Merlin?” It snapped behind him. The house lights were up, and standing center stage was Arthur.

“Oh,” Merlin breathed. He looked back at what he was working on. He remembered finishing all the sets long ago, and now was painting something different.

“That’s not for Romeo and Juliet, is it?” Arthur laughed. “I like it though.”

Merlin studied his art. He hadn’t painted abstract in a very long time, but he liked what he saw. “I finished the sets and felt like using up the rest of this paint for something.” Merlin let out a content noise. “It’s not realism.”

“Not sure what it is,” Arthur joked, coming to kneel next to where Merlin sat. “What are you doing up before noon?”

Merlin looked around and realized there was no clock around him. “Uh, what time is it?”

“8:30.”

“AM?” Merlin sputtered, though he knew it was impossible for it to be 8PM; that was when he was shaking Cenred’s hand for the first time. “Shit.”

“You were here all night, weren’t you?” Arthur seemed more annoyed than he should have been. Then he shifted his weight on his knee and tried a different tone, “So you’re all done, then?”

“Uh,” Merlin stood up slowly, looking around him. “I guess so.”

Following Merlin's lead, Arthur stood up and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Congratulations. Will you stay for the run through in a few hours? We could get something to eat and -” Arthur stopped himself. “You don’t have to.”

Merlin did want to stay for the run through. For some god-forsaken reason, they always rehearsed far too early for Merlin’s liking but he was already up now. Also, it being so close to hell week, most of the costuming and staging was done. It would be the next best thing to opening night. Merlin reached for Arthur’s hand. “Let’s go get some breakfast.” He just didn’t have it in him to disappoint Arthur more than once.


	3. All The World's a Stage

“It was a very good painting,” Arthur said between bites of food. “I still remember how the man was slumped against the bench the way he was and how you captured the sadness of the situation without really pitying the man himself.”

“You got all that from my painting?” Merlin sputtered, through the food in his mouth. Truth be told, that was exactly what Merlin was going for, but not a single person - art critics included - had come to that conclusion.

Arthur broke eye contact. “It was just an observation… I didn’t -”

“No,” Merlin interjected. “It’s fine. That was a pretty good description of it. I just didn’t expect you to like art so much.”

That made Arthur reward Merlin with a smile. “I don’t usually, but yours strike me as…” he trailed off, waiting to be interrupted.

“Not very good, according to your father,” Merlin finished.

“I’m not going to have this conversation with you again.” Arthur took another bite of food and decisively looked away from Merlin.

Merlin laughed. “Well this is only the second time I’m having this conversation, to be fair. And actually, I don’t really care anymore. I got a deal with Cenred.”

“Cenred?” Arthur’s eyes shot up. “Morgana got you a deal with Cenred?”

It was hard to read his expression, but Merlin remained positive. “Isn’t that great?”

“That depends. Have you signed anything yet?” Up until this point, Merlin had considered Arthur a friend at best. Hardly an acquaintance. Sure they had slept together, but Merlin didn't remember that, so it didn’t really count. But even if it did, what business did Arthur have in Merlin’s affairs? He seemed overly concerned, like Merlin was important to him, somehow. It made Merlin uncomfortable and confused. “I did. I’m pretty happy with the deal.”

“You should let me look over the paperwork. I can tell you if -”

“Sorry, what? No, Arthur, I appreciate it, but really I am fine on my own.” Merlin’s frustration began to build. What right did Arthur have telling him what he should and shouldn’t do? What right did he have to care about Merlin like that? Merlin shifted in the booth they were sitting in. “Just drop it, okay?” The look Arthur was giving him was most upsetting of all. But even worse somehow was the feeling it gave Merlin.

“Sorry, Merlin.” When he said his name, Merlin’s guilt crashed over him.

“Fuck…” he breathed quietly, barely audible.

“What?” Arthur said with more irritation than curiosity.

“I know you’re just trying to help. Sorry. It’s just: this is a really big deal for me, and I don’t want to mess it up. And if I’ve already messed it up I don’t want to know until I’ve finished having a bit of fun with it. Because no one has liked my work since I moved here, and no one had offered me a job, and I just need a break and I don’t want a Pendragon telling me I’ve messed up before I’ve even had a break. So if we could just drop it?”

“I did.” Arthur was staring at his food, poking it with his fork.

“What?” Merlin spat.

Arthur glanced at Merlin hesitantly, then his eyes jerked away. “I liked your work and offered you a job.”

“Yeah, but,” Merlin started, then realising he had no point to follow up with, resorted to sighing loudly. “Okay, sorry. I just… I’m sorry.”

Arthur wiped his face with his napkin and revealed a fake smile. “It’s fine.”

“I can’t go to opening night.” Merlin blurted out. He hadn’t planned on saying it yet, but it was just like Merlin to admit things at the worst possible time - especially when he was already feeling guilty for something else.

“Oh,” Arthur said, as if Merlin had just brought up a good point in a friendly political debate. “Of course. Cenred?”

Merlin nodded, then looked at his food that was probably now cold. They were in IHOP again - the same one - and Merlin had once again ordered pancakes. They didn’t seem so appealing anymore. “Sorry,” Merlin repeated for what felt like the hundredth time in that conversation.

“Don’t worry about it.”

There was silence for a moment before Merlin spoke again, changing the subject. “Why Romeo and Juliet?”

Arthur’s head shot up in a moment of confusion, then he slowly spoke, “Um, I don't know. I know it’s overdone, and it’s probably Shakespeare's worst play, despite it being his most popular, but it always struck a chord with me.” Arthur seemed distant, like he wasn’t talking about just a play.

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked with genuine interest.

Arthur cocked his head as if he was surprised at Merlin’s reaction. “Well, to be honest, I’ve always loved Shakespeare. I mean, getting into theatre, how can you not? But when I was in highschool we went to an outdoor theatre. It was threatening rain all day - frankly, I don’t know why we went, but it was a school field trip. The play was Romeo and Juliet with a slightly modern adaptation and some renaissance influence. It was pretty interesting. It was a professional play, so of course the acting was good, but what always stuck with me was the last scene. The moment when Juliet wakes up to find Romeo dead, it started raining. Right on cue, like a movie. Swear to god. And it was the most beautiful experience of my life.”

Merlin waited for Arthur to continue, entranced by his honesty and sudden openness. “Damn,” Merlin finally hummed. “That’s pretty deep.”

“Shut up,” Arthur hissed, but he wasn’t quite angry. Maybe slightly amused.

“I’m serious!” Merlin said, trying to show how serious he actually was. “I love that shit. Rain and romance. I don’t like Shakespeare, but I can see why you would have loved that.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raised and he lowered his head. “You don’t like Shakespeare?” He said it more as a false statement, rather than a question.

“Too many words.” Merlin turned back to his food.

“Too many words? You’re one to talk, Merlin,” Arthur chuckled.

Merlin frowned. “I don’t talk that much.”

Arthur smiled. “If you say so.”

Merlin took that as a challenge and crossed his arms, pantomiming sealing his lips with a key, then throwing it away. Arthur’s brow furrowed, making Merlin break much sooner than he had intended. “Okay. I talk a lot. 'This above all, to thine own self be true'.”

The look of shock on Arthur’s face was well worth it. “I thought you hated him?”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know his plays. And I didn’t say I hated him, I just don’t like him that much.”

Arthur shook his head. “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”

“Is this a contest? Because you are totally going to win, I think I only have a few more quotes in me.”

Arthur smiled again - all white teeth and gorgeous angelness. “Fair is foul, and foul is fair.”

“You’re not even making sense.” But Merlin was beaming, hoping he wouldn’t stop. Despite knowing what he knew about Arthur, seeing him spout out Shakespeare was mesmerizing.

“All right. Sorry.”

“One more?” Merlin asked sheepishly, blood flowing to his cheeks.

Arthur’s face turned serious. “Love moderately. Long love doth so. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.” He waited for Merlin to respond, then went back to his food. Neither said anything till they had finished eating.

 

Merlin was exhausted after being up all night. After breakfast with Arthur, they both decided it would be best if he went home to sleep then came back for the rehearsal the following day. It was the first time Merlin was actually going to watch the play. He had seen bits of it, but was usually working as they acted, and if he did catch a glimpse of it, it was only for a moment, not long enough to really appreciate it.

The man playing Romeo, Lancelot, was very tall and had dark features. He was handsome, but his counterpart was stunning. The woman playing Juliet was certainly not the typical Juliet, but she was just as beautiful as one would imagine. Her name was Guinevere. Merlin noted that off stage the two were a couple, it was a sweet realization and Merlin hoped that their chemistry would bleed over into the performance.

They weren’t doing a full runthrough, it was only Lance and Gwen on stage. Arthur was in the first row glaring at them - not glaring, maybe more studious, but he certainly didn’t seem happy. As Lance was finishing a line, Arthur jumped up from his seat.

“I got it.” He raced up the stairs and onto the stage. He took Gwen’s hand and without even a script in hand he started reciting Lance’s next line, “If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.” He turned to Lancelot. “Don’t look right at her until you say ‘Gentle sin is this.’ You are mesmerized by her hand, then it’s her. Once you see her face, up close, you start to think about her lips. She was just a stranger till this point, once you meet her you realize your initial feelings, as absurd as they may be to everyone else around you, were in fact something real. This is the moment it goes from lust to love. You fall in love not at first sight, but at first eye contact. And this is that moment.”

After a few more stage directions he was off the stage and back to his seat in the first row. From a few rows back, Merlin could still see Arthur’s deep concentration. Almost too quick for Merlin to notice, Arthur turned to look at him. When Arthur saw Merlin looking back, he turned again to his actors, quickly. It was long enough for Merlin to see the look in his eyes. Merlin believed, even if it was just for a second, that Arthur knew exactly what he was talking about.

They ran through a few more scenes and some other actors came and went from the stage. The sets weren’t used - because the stagehands were only coming to every other rehearsal - there were no costumes, and no lighting. It wasn’t much to watch, but Merlin found himself enjoying watching Arthur work. He was so passionate, and when he did act out something to show as an example, it was enchanting. He brought Merlin out of reality when he spoke. Even though he would only do it for a short time to show an actor what to do, it still sent chills through Merlin, and he wondered how he could possibly watch anyone else act.

“It was good.” Merlin had waited till all the actors had packed up and started to leave before coming to meet Arthur on stage.

“I was hoping we could do a run through for you, but Andrew is sick, and George had to leave early.” Arthur shuffled his script that was just a bunch of loose papers with more writing in the margins than actual script.

“I’ll see a run through eventually, there is still time. I’m only missing Opening Night. I’ll be there Saturday night, promise.” Merlin turned to the sets that were still off to the side. “Plus, I think you could use a few more set pieces.” He looked at Arthur, hopefully. He knew he should take advantage of the free time he had given himself by finishing early, but Merlin needed an excuse to see Arthur again. Cenred’s paintings could wait. If the feeling in the pit of Merlin’s stomach meant anything, then he didn’t think he could get any work done not knowing exactly what it meant. He had to find out.

Arthur followed Merlin’s gaze, then his eyes were back on Merlin. “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”

Before Merlin could kiss him right then and there - with a few people still in the room - Merlin decided to speak and distract his lips. “I haven’t actually seen you act before. I feel like this was a teaser. I need more.”

Arthur blushed. He actually blushed like a schoolgirl. “Eh, I don’t do much of it anymore. Since I’ve taken up directing I don’t have much time for it.”

He moved to put his script away, and Merlin followed. “Come on. Show me something.”

The room had cleared and it was just Arthur and Merlin on stage. “I don’t know.”

“Please. You’ve seen my paintings. I need to see your art. It’s only fair.” Arthur looked around to reassure himself that everyone had left. Then nodded at Merlin quickly.

He turned slowly to the house and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He soon became another person. _“Now hear this, Willy, this is me. You know why I had no address for three months? I stole a suit in Kansas City and I was in jail. I stole myself out of every good job since high school! And I never got anywhere because you blew me so full of hot air I could never stand taking orders from anybody! That’s whose fault it is! It’s goddam time you heard this! I had to be big boss shot in two weeks, and I’m through with it! Willy! I ran down eleven flights with a pen in my hand today. And suddenly I stopped, you hear me? And in the middle of that office building, do you hear this? I stopped in the middle of that building and I saw—the sky. I saw the things that I love in this world. The work and the food and time to sit and smoke. And I looked at the pen and said to myself, what the hell am I grabbing this for? Why am I trying to become what I don’t want to be? What am I doing in an office, making a contemptuous, begging fool of myself, when all I want is out there, waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am!”_

There was such conviction in his voice. He was so serious and even when his last word had quieted from the otherwise silent space, Merlin couldn’t bring himself to speak. After a beat, Arthur looked back at Merlin sheepishly, saying nothing. Merlin moved towards him, captivated by - something. No, everything. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he moved in even closer and took Arthur’s wrist. Looking quickly from Merlin's hand to his eyes, Arthur tried to pull away, but Merlin held tight. He pulled Arthur in and kissed him, abruptly and - admittedly - a bit awkwardly.

Arthur snached his hand free and untangled his lips from Merlin’s. Confused and hurt, he backed away slowly from Merlin. Before he left, he whispered, “Sorry, I can’t...”


	4. But Love is Blind and Lovers Cannot See

On the 12th of September, Merlin arrived at the Round Gallery at 6:35 PM. He was dressed in a navy blue button up shirt with a pattern of small white owls covering it. He had a matching white bowtie. He thought he had done a damn good job. Matching was not Merlin's strong suit, but Morgana had helped - even though Merlin gave himself most the credit because all the clothes had come from his closet, to be fair. Nonetheless, he looked like he did not just roll out of bed, which was saying a lot.

Merlin had never been so nervous in all his life. Well, besides the time he was forced by his high school gym teacher to jump into the deep-end of the pool when Merlin had never properly learned how to swim. This gala came very close, though. He knew it was the first of many to come and it was the one he should worry least about. But that didn’t stop his anxiety from building. The gala was set to begin at 7:30. Morgana dragged him there early to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid.

“I wasn’t that drunk last time,” Merlin protested, as Morgana straightened his tie. The scene was oddly similar to the time Merlin’s mother, Hunith, had dragged him to his cousin Gilli’s ballet recital and told him he couldn’t go outside and collect snails.

Morgana scowled at him sternly. “You slept with my brother…”

Dramatically laying his hand over his chest, Merlin breathed in with a feigned look of shock on his face. “Who told you?”

“Gwaine,” Morgana reported automatically as she brushed Merlin’s already combed hair out of his face.

“Hey, I just did that.”

Morgana gave him a look of disapproval. “You did not, you liar.”

Merlin pouted. “You are the worst manager ever. By the way, I invited Gwaine.”

“God! Well, keep him under control too.” Morgana seemed to be satisfied with Merlin; she patted his shoulder reassuringly then, with a genuine calmness, said, “Don’t be nervous. Your painting is perfect.”

Merlin nodded and watched her walk away to go find Cenred. Merlin tried to take Morgana’s advice, but was failing miserably. He did plan on getting drunk tonight, Morgana wasn’t going to stop him from that. In fact, that was the only reason he invited Gwaine in the first place. He was a good drinking buddy, and one of Merlin’s few friends since moving to London. They met two days after Merlin moved into his small flat and have remained close since then. It wasn’t hard to get Gwaine to come out for an evening, and since Merlin’s art was on display tonight there was no way Gwaine would miss the gala.

Gwaine went to a lot of art shows in the city. He loved art, though he didn’t paint himself. However, he sculpted marble magnificently. Most of his work was done for very rich people who wanted statues of themselves, but Gwaine’s passion was sculpting nude models. If Gwaine was good for nothing else, he could stare at a naked body all day and match it perfectly with his chisel and stone. Merlin had to admit the man had a gift. Gwaine had enough experience in the whole naked-body department. Merlin didn’t know how one person could have so much sex, but he didn’t really want to know either.

By the time it was 7:30, Merlin had drunk himself stupid. That was his first mistake of the evening. Gwaine arrived on time - for once - and immediately began drinking with Merlin. Cenred entered the main exhibit hall fashionably late at 8:00. He was in dark clothing, scarves and layers everywhere, Merlin couldn’t really tell what was attached to what. His long black hair reached his shoulders, and his beard was trimmed to look like a high-end homeless person. In Merlin’s tipsy state he hated Cenred. Though he never much cared for the guy. He was important in the art world, and that’s all Merlin cared to know about him.

The night seemed to move quickly after that. Waiters kept passing Merlin with champagne glasses, making it too easy for him to snatch them up. He didn’t want to get too drunk, but his nerves were not allowing him to stop chugging down the liquid that would calm them. At about 9 they had revealed all of the featured paintings for the evening. The crowd was clapping when Merlin realized they had saved his painting for last. The people in the crowd who recognized him turned first, then everyone in the room was looking at him. Merlin stood, with some space between him and the surrounding people, with a dumbfounded look upon his face. He nodded graciously, and tried to pretend he was sober. Because he was sober; he could do this. Morgana scowled at him from where she was standing next to Cenred. Merlin smiled at her then nodded again at the still-applauding crowd.

They had picked one of Merlin's old pieces for this first show. It was a picture of a man walking his dog in the park. Merlin hated it, but Morgana had insisted that they save his best for later shows; then she added that people loved dogs and this would be a perfect piece for Merlin to begin with. Trusting his manager to know what she was talking about, Merlin agreed. Looking at it now though, through his slightly drunk eyes, he started to feel that Morgana may have actually been right. He could feel the wind in the park, the soft fur of the golden retriever, and the warm sun on the grass. He was actually proud of himself, allowing a small smile to spread across his face as the people turned back to face Cenred.

After some time, things started to settle down and Merlin began sobering up - but not quite. Gwaine stumbled over to Merlin with a cute boy - who looked far too young to be with Gwaine - under his arm. “Hey Merlin, Cedric and I are going to get out of here, you good on getting home?” Merlin wasn’t; he had driven himself and he was in no state to drive home anytime soon.

“Fine.” That was Merlin’s second mistake that evening.

“See you later, mate.” Gwaine was out the door before Merlin could even think of a response.

Merlin was on a bench across the room from his canvas. He looked at it fondly and decided that, despite Morgana making such a fuss about how much he had drank, the night had gone pretty well. It was a damn good piece and Merlin was a damn good artist… dammit. He could be proud of himself if he wanted; it was a rare enough occurrence and Merlin deserved it. It had been a long time since he felt this good about his work.

A couple, a man and a woman, walked over to the painting. They were sipping their champagne glasses and studying it carefully. The man rolled his eyes and turned to the woman he was with. “It’s so unimaginative. I can’t believe they would have second-rate art at the Round Gallery. Certainly Cenred is losing his mind.” Merlin watched them saunter away snickering to themselves. He needed to drink more.

It was now 11 and the gala was officially over. Some late-comers were still congratulating and thanking Morgana and Cenred while Merlin sat brooding in the corner. Before Morgana could come over and make Merlin feel worse, he decided to exit through the back. He stumbled his way through the door and pulled out his phone. He was going to call a taxi. He really was, but his drunk fingers dialled a different number instead. “Hello?” Arthur’s voice came through through the earpiece. That was Merlin’s third mistake of the evening.

 

Merlin woke in a haze. He wondered if maybe he was still drunk. He sat up abruptly as he remembered what he had done the night before. He had called Arthur to pick him up. ‘Big fucking mistake, Emrys’, Merlin thought to himself. Merlin sank back into his pillow, hoping that he could forget about it all. Though that was impossible. Merlin knew that not only would Arthur say something at rehearsal but - shit. The thought that Arthur might still be in his apartment crossed Merlin’s mind.

Arthur had brought Merlin home, got him water, then Merlin threw up on his shoes. He remembered that. But once Merlin was in bed, with a glass of water on his nightstand with two aspirins next to it, he didn’t pay attention to what Arthur was doing. The memory of Arthur saying, “Good night, Merlin,” felt like it was years ago, but Merlin was pretty sure that happened last night too.

Another fucking embarrassing morning with Arthur Pendragon. Great. Merlin struggled with his blankets, but once he was free of his bed he made his way to the living room where the possibility of finding Arthur on his couch made him nervous. He walked down his hall and found his jacket laying on the floor haphazardly. It was just like drunk Merlin to discard his clothes as soon as possible. As Merlin stumbled into the much too bright living room, he found Arthur struggling to put on his shoes that looked to be mostly clean of the vomit.

“Sorry about that.” Merlin’s voice startled Arthur, causing him to fall back onto the couch in surprise.

He looked back at Merlin with shock spreading over his face. “Oh, you’re up. It’s only 9 so I thought…”

Merlin smiled. “Thank you for last night. I shouldn’t have called you like that. It was… I’m sorry, okay. And I appreciate everything you did.”

Arthur scoffed, but the shock had not left his face. “So you remember it then?”

“What?” Merlin said slowly, but then he saw the hint of hurt in Arthur’s eyes. “Oh. I do. Not clearly, but I do.”

The room was silent.

“I should go,” Arthur finally croaked. His eyes didn’t leave his shoes as Merlin came to sit next to him on the couch.

“Is there something you want to say to me, Arthur? Because I think now is a good time to say it.” They hadn’t talked about the night they met since it happened. It was a sore topic that both seemed to prefer to ignore. Merlin just wrote it off as an embarrassing way to meet his current boss, but it seemed to be much more to Arthur. Merlin wanted to forget it; he wanted to not care about what it meant to Arthur, but he found himself drawn to Arthur, in a curious way, and he needed to know what the man was thinking.

Arthur shook his head, still looking at his shoes, though he had given up putting them on. “No. I don’t.”

“Nothing?” Merlin prodded.

“Not a thing. Excuse me.” Arthur pushed past Merlin as he stood.

He was almost out the door when Merlin suddenly realized he couldn’t let the man leave like that. “Okay. Then I have something to say. We slept together. It happened, I may have forgotten it, but it happened. And you seem to remember. Then I kissed you. You ran away because I kissed you. And then I was drunk again and called you to come pick me up, which you did.”

Merlin wasn’t finished, but Arthur cut in. “Those are all just facts, Merlin. You aren’t saying anything.”

“I just want to know what all that means to you.” Merlin walked towards his door to stand behind Arthur.

The blond man turned to look at Merlin with sad blue eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything. Please, can I just go?”

“Fine,” Merlin conceded, taking a step back.

Before Arthur closed the door behind him he looked again at Merlin. “I don’t think we will need those extra sets. I’ll send you your check in the mail.” Then the door was closed before Merlin could properly respond.


	5. Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

Merlin really didn’t need Arthur. He didn’t need his approval. Or his job. Merlin was perfectly happy ignoring Arthur for a week. Clearly, Merlin was unwanted company, and whatever Merlin had done was not going to be easily fixed. The hurt in Arthur’s eyes stuck with Merlin for a few days, but as the week progressed, he forgot easily about the pretentious prat. But then came the 18th.

Opening night.

Merlin had a show at a gallery he had never been to before. It was called Monmouth Museum. The new location, the guilt of missing opening night, the hurt in Arthur’s eyes, and the dread of his artwork being put on display was really putting Merlin in a foul mood. Morgana was unhappy when he arrived 45 minutes later than she had expected him. He didn’t try nearly as hard on his appearance this time and he wasn’t even going to bother trying to pretend he was going to be sober tonight.

“No drinking. I mean it, you bastard. Don’t think this is only your career on the line. Don’t you care about your future?” Morgana snatched the painting from Merlin’s hand. He had been working on it all week and was very unhappy with it. He didn’t know how Morgana had convinced him to paint something new, but he had worked really hard on it, putting in all of the emotions that ran through him throughout the week. It came out wonderful; technically and aesthetically it was a flawless painting, Merlin was just unhappy that his mind and his brush were clearly not on the same page.

“This better be good,” Morgana spat and she propped the canvas against a nearby table. Once the painting was revealed, Morgana let out a soft gasp. “Oh, Merlin,” she said, in a tone that was far from the stern manager Merlin was used to. She looked at him with apologetic eyes and then looked at her watch. “You know, you could probably still make the after party -”

“I won’t drink tonight,” Merlin promised, knowing this would bring his manager out of any thoughts she was forming about Merlin. He didn’t know why he did it, he didn’t even want to bring it in tonight, he had plenty of other pieces he could have brought in, but Morgana said she wanted something new, and this was his only new piece.

Morgana nodded solemnly at him, then snapped back to her usual self. “I can’t believe it took you all week to complete this, and you are late! Cenred isn’t going to be happy. And you better not drink. Mordred is going to be here tonight.”

Why Morgana decided to save that news for the last minute was beyond Merlin. Really Morgana could be a fucking bitch, but to blindside him like that? That was low for even her. A deal with Cenred was huge. A deal with Uther was major. But a deal with Mordred, that was the end all deal of deals. And Merlin hadn’t even brushed his hair. “Are you fucking serious?”

But Morgana was already making her way out of the main lobby where she had met Merlin. “We start at 8 o’clock sharp. Be ready.”

Merlin slapped his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Bloody hell,” he breathed to himself. Instantly, Merlin began to shake and he knew there wasn’t going to be much, besides alcohol, that would calm his nerves. But he also wanted to keep a clear head, if Mordred were to engage him in conversation. Well, either way Merlin would be fucked, but at least if he was sober he had a slightly better chance at impressing the man.

Maybe Morgana was right to keep it from Merlin till the last minute. Merlin wouldn’t have been able to focus on his work if he had been worrying about Mordred all week. His work. Shit, his painting. Merlin suddenly had the urge to run after Morgana to look over his piece for tonight. He couldn’t even remember the details of it. Would it be good enough for Mordred? “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” It didn’t matter either way. There was nothing Merlin could do except wait. And 8 o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.

 

The room was clamoring with white noise. Sounds of ostentatious upper class elitists filled the stuffy room. The museum wasn’t a very large one, and their art exhibit was much smaller than even the Round Gallery. Mordred was at the center of the room. Surrounded by pushy people trying to get a word in, the man stood his ground easily. He was accustomed to the attention, in fact, Merlin guess he lived by it. The man wouldn’t have had the room’s attention on anything else other than him.

Since the space was much smaller, there wasn’t time to reveal individual works like they had at the last one. All the featured paintings for the evening were already hung, waiting for judgment. Merlin tensed. He couldn’t bring his eyes away from Mordred. The moment the man saw Merlin’s painting he would run. No he would go talk to him. No. He wouldn’t do anything. Merlin didn’t know what the fuck he would do, but he had to know the moment when Mordred saw his work.

Then, breaking away from the circle of people, Mordred began taking in the art. One by one. Merlin couldn’t slow his heart rate. The only other person in the room beside Merlin was Mordred. The prickly wool of the bench Merlin was sitting on scratched his hands and he clung to the only thing keeping him anchored in one place. Finally, Mordred came to Merlin’s painting, and Merlin looked at it again as if it were the very first time he had ever seen it as well. In some ways it was.

On the pale red backdrop there was a single spotlight lighting the center of a stage. There was a burgundy curtain that was pulled half-way across the stage. In the spotlight stood a tall, fit blond man. Despite it being a painting, one that Merlin had created himself, Merlin could hear the monologue being spoken. Words drifted to Merlin from the canvas as he could almost hear the rough voice that belonged to Arthur. It was spellbinding. For a moment Merlin was back on stage with Arthur. Those strong arms were around him again and he could almost feel those lips on his own. Merlin shut his eyes and focused in on that moment. That was the moment he wanted to be in. That was the moment that gave Merlin the strength to stand and walk over to Mordred.

“I used a color washing technique to get the right texture of the curtain, but I’m not sure it looks as realistic as I had intended. Though there is a bit of a theatrical element that I think the 3 inch brush brought to the highlighted area on stage that I am really proud of.” Somehow he got the words out without shaking.

Mordred turned to Merlin with a coy glare. That's when Merlin noticed he was taller than the other man, which could have made him less intimidating, but nothing about Mordred was calming. “You’re right,” he grimaced, making Morgana gasp somewhere behind Merlin. “Except I like what the washing technique did to it. You have a real skill, young man.”

Without another word, Mordred spun on his heels and went on to the next painting. Merlin could physically feel the weight being lifted from his shoulders. As Morgana came behind him, Merlin could feel himself relax even more. “He liked it,” Merlin blurted.

“I know!” Morgana sang in response. “Congratulations, Merlin. You could use a drink.”

They went to the bar together and Morgana ordered for both of them. Merlin took a deep swig of his drink and wiped his lip. He had never been so relieved. And that’s when Merlin saw Cenred for the first time that night. He had his usual cocky grin and aloof attitude. Merlin realized he was talking to Mordred, then pointing at Merlin’s painting. A flutter of hope rushed through Merlin as he watched the men talk about his work. His work. ‘You have a real skill, young man.’ the words rang in Merlin’s ears and nothing could keep Merlin from floating away into this feeling of bliss.

“You deserve better,” Morgana whispered, almost to herself. She looked at Merlin apologetically. “I’m really sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” he bellowed, worry building with the pause that followed.

Morgana shook her head and took a sip of her beverage. “Just… I’m sorry, kid.” Then she disappeared into the crowd.

 

That night Merlin went home and inexplicably began painting a picture of a familiar blond man.

 

It was Wednesday when Merlin got the call. He knew something wasn’t right at the gala, but he refused to admit it to himself, too caught up in self-assurance. He didn't make an appearance at Romeo and Juliet, however. He was dressed, ready to go, in the car, but couldn’t bring himself to face Arthur. He just couldn’t. He had nothing to say, and his perceived success at the latest show had made him feel like maybe he had started a new chapter in his life. He didn’t want to go backwards; he didn’t want to chase Arthur. But Wednesday everything changed.

“Merlin, buddy. Guess what!?” Cenred had never sounded so cheerful before, let alone even called Merlin. “I have some news.”

“What is it?” Merlin asked, trying to hide his rising qualm.

Cenred cleared his throat and did what he could to keep his positive tone but Merlin caught the regret in his boss’ voice. “Look, kid, your painting was a hit. Take solace in that. Mordred wants to buy it for his museum.”

“How much do I get?” Merlin asked, excitement suddenly swelling in his chest to the point where he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He was still nervous that maybe Mordred had not liked the painting as much as he had hoped. He thought maybe Mordred had offered an unfair deal.

Cenred paused. “Nothing.”

Merlin waited for the laugh or something else to reassure him this wasn’t true. “What do you mean?” Merlin asked, doubt finally taking over.

“I mean you signed with me and I will be getting all the proceeds for any new paintings. It was in the contract -”

“But,” Merlin spat, without much of a follow up.

“Merlin, I know you are new to this, but let me assure you, you are still being paid by me.”

The room suddenly felt dry and void of air. “No,” he whispered softly. Then, louder, he said firmly, “So I don’t get any more than the initial amount we had talked about for the shows? I won’t get anything when someone buys my work!? It’s my painting, Cenred.”

He was calm; Cenred kept his distant happiness in his voice as he retorted, “I’m not a monster, Merlin. Everything I did was legal. You signed with me. You are new to the scene -”

“And you took advantage of that,” Merlin cut in. Then he remembered Morgana’s words the other night: ‘You deserve better.’

“I know you are upset, but I thought you would be happy to know that Mordred liked your work! Just because my name will be associated with it doesn’t mean -”

“Please,” Merlin begged pathetically. “Don’t try and sugar coat it. Just give me whatever you think I deserve. I’m not painting for you the rest of the season.”

Cered became stern, and it was a little frightening. “No. That’s not how it works, kid. You signed a contract. You have at least three more shows and one more painting. I need something to show Uther.”

At the sound of that name Merlin broke. A sob escaped Merlin that he could not stop even if he wanted to. “Fuck Uther. Fuck you. Fuck Morgana. I am not painting for money, so I don’t give a shit about you stealing from me, but there is no way in hell you can force me to paint something for you and stand in the background pretending you deserve all the credit. Really, do whatever you want. Don’t pay me anything. I don’t fucking care.”

Merlin hung up before Cenred could respond, and before even waiting for the inevitable call back, Merlin threw his phone against the wall, shattering it. He dropped to his knees, right there in the middle of his living room, and brought his hands to his face. How had he been so stupid? Merlin was always an idiot. He didn’t think anything through. Moving to London had been one mistake after another; he couldn’t get anything right. Merlin sucked in another sob. Fucking bloody hell. There was no way Merlin was going to allow himself to live this down. He had trusted someone without giving any thought to the consequences.

It was like it had been his entire life. Merlin lived in the moment. He took up any opportunity he had and hoped it would one day lead to his ideal life. He had an idea for the future, one in which he was truly happy, but this vision was always blurry and a bit unreachable. Merlin had believed, for the longest time, that not thinking too much about the present would only bring him happiness in the future. And though it had brought him a lot of instant gratification, Merlin never ended up getting anything right. Starting with his family, Merlin had royally fucked up. After Balinor, Merlin’s father, had left, Merlin was downright terrible to his mother. Hunith had tried her best with him, but Merlin always acted out as a teenager and pushed against her with all he had. He didn’t want to be like Balinor, he didn’t want to be like Hunith. He wanted to be free. Start anew. He didn’t want the clutter and complications that he knew from his childhood. So as soon as Merlin turned 18, he left home and decided to find a meaning for his life.

Ironically, looking for freedom only made Merlin feel more trapped than ever. He was forced to get a job as a waiter, forced to live on the streets for months till he finally saved enough for a deposit for a flat. He was broke and homeless, but he told himself he was happy. He had made a decision long ago that he would act only on impulse and not think about tomorrow. It was the only way he could achieve any semblance of contentment. But it always left him cold. And right now he was freezing. He had never felt a blow hit him so hard. Sure, he had fucked up before, but since the years of leaving home, Merlin thought that maybe moving to London had actually been a good choice. But he had never felt so wrong in all his life. Merlin clutched his stomach and let his tears fall onto his hardwood floor. It didn’t matter what Merlin did; he needed to think about what he truly wanted. If he didn’t try and consider the next steps in his life, how could he ever get to that ideal place of happiness?

Merlin knew, deep down, one thing he wanted. He just never wanted to admit that he needed someone else. He didn’t want to admit that another person could make him feel whole or happy, or give him that sense of security he had been searching for since his father left. Merlin knew that there was one thing that had happened since moving to London that had not been entirely bad. One thing that, if Merlin just tried hard enough, he could still get back. It was a long shot, but for once in Merlin’s life, he thought about what he wanted, and knew the steps in order to get it.

His mind swirled and at the center of all his rage, guilt, and doubt, one thing remained constant. He looked at the painting he had started that night after Mordred had built Merlin up higher than he had ever been. The confidence and pride Merlin felt that night had made him paint the only other person that had made him feel so good about his art before: Arthur. The blond man smiled softly at Merlin, even with his sad blue eyes. The eyes that seemed to want something so desperately, knowing what they needed, and not being able to get the thing they most desired. It was that moment Merlin realized what that was. It was him. It was Merlin. Arthur had wanted Merlin since ‘that’ night. Since… before Merlin knew him. Merlin let out a chuckle and resolutely stood. “The play’s the thing…” he whispered before smiling and grabbing his coat.


	6. The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth

'Shakespeare is meant to be seen, not read. Reading Shakespeare is like trying to listen to a painting.' Merlin recalled the words of his English teacher Mr. Gaius in high school. He hadn't realized how true they were till he saw the play Arthur had magnificently produced. Shakespeare himself would have been impressed. The quality could have been attributed to the good actors, great script, and even the decent looking sets - Merlin could take some credit - but no, the true beauty of the words, the gracefulness of the actors, and the good set design were only made noticeable and relevant because of Arthur’s direction. Merlin knew. He could tell. The genius behind it all was none other than Arthur.

Captivated, Merlin watched the whole play hanging to the edge of his seat. No play had ever commanded so much of Merlin’s attention. He enjoyed plays, but not any more than the average person. Watching Romeo and Juliet was an entirely new experience. At the end of the play, the lights faded. Merlin thought it was over and was about to begin clapping when a single spotlight switched on, lighting center stage. On a stool, dressed in period clothing, was Arthur.

He held an acoustic guitar in his hand, not looking at the audience. He began to play. 'I will Follow You into the Dark' by Death Cab For Cutie filled the theatre with a small hum. Then Arthur began singing and Merlin’s mouth actually dropped with a quick intake of air. He didn’t know Arthur could sing, let alone play guitar. The imagery from the song, along with the softness of his voice brought Merlin to tears. His face warmed with a blush, but he did not dare close his eyes; he wouldn't miss a bit of this.

Alas, the playing stopped as did Arthur’s beautiful voice. The curtains closed and the actors began filling the stage for bows. It wasn’t until most of the clapping had subsided that Merlin was able to shake himself out of his daze and applaud the spectacular show he had just witnessed. With the house lights up, the audience began to fill the room with chatter. The crowd moved into the lobby, but Merlin remained. He waited for most of the people to exit before he stood. The actors would be meeting the fans and their loved ones out in the lobby; Merlin didn’t care to catch any of the actors. He went for the stage.

Pulling back the curtains, Merlin found some stagehands moving his sets. "Hey, Lewis!" Merlin called. He hardly knew the guy, but was fairly certain he had remembered the correct name.

"Hey, Merlin. Glad to see you made it, what did you think?" Merlin was about to answer when something caught his eye. The abstract painting Merlin had done on a scrap piece of set was hung nicely above the door to the greenroom. He turned to Lewis and muttered a response but could not bring himself to stop looking at the painting.

"It was too good to throw out,"Arthur said from behind Merlin.

Spinning around clumsily, Merlin almost elbowed Arthur in shoulder. "Sorry," was the first thing Merlin said, then he caught Arthur’s eye and couldn't continue.

"So, you saw the play?" Arthur asked, uncertain.

"Yeah," Merlin answered stupidly.

There was a pause that was only filled with the noise of the stagehands bringing the sets off stage. "Thanks for making it out tonight." Arthur scratched the back of his head as he spoke, avoiding Merlin’s eyes.

Merlin stared until Arthur finally returned his gaze. "I am really sorry, Arthur. I..." He waited, trying to read the look on Arthur’s face. "I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for, but I know I've fucked up more than once. I just need you to know that I, well..." Merlin looked down at his feet "I'm just really glad to see you."

"You too. Thanks for coming, Merlin. I really didn’t expect you to come after I left your house like that."

“Oh, don’t apologize for that. I was the one who was drunk and -” Merlin realized he was speaking quickly, and his hands were trembling. “So the play was amazing,” he blurted out abruptly.

“Thanks,” Arthur hummed simply with a twinkle in his eye. “How did you like what we did with your sets?”

Merlin grinned, “I wasn't’ watching the sets; I was too captivated by the play. Seriously, I didn’t like Shakespeare much till today. It was fantastic.”

Arthur shook his head in response, letting his gorgeous smile finally win him over. “Thank you. That means a lot.” Merlin nodded and shifted his weight. “Well. I should get going. We have a cast party at my place tonight and I should get things ready… I’ll see you around?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, instinctively.

“Unless you want to come? You did help with the show…”

The invitation was appreciated, but Merlin couldn’t live on impulse anymore. One step at a time. Arthur would be worth it, he just wanted to make sure it was done right. “No, thank you. I should be getting some rest.”

Arthur was a bit stunned. “It’s before 2 in the morning, Merlin. Are you all right?”

“Better than ever.” And it was the truth. The way Arthur was looking at him was all the reassurance he needed. “Thank you, Arthur.” But there was so much more to his words; he hoped they had shown through.

They must have because Arthur gave him another genuine perfect smile. Full of teeth and… Merlin didn’t want to say it, but he wondered if maybe it was love. “Get some sleep, Merlin.”

“I will, Arthur.”

 

That night Merlin went home and finished his portrait of Arthur. The next morning, much earlier than noon, he leaned it against the back entrance of the theatre.

 

About a week passed. Merlin had calmed down enough to finally sit down and have a talk with Morgana. She had told him that she was really sorry and that she didn’t mean to hurt him. It was the first time she talked about real human emotions, or even showed actual emotions for that matter. It was refreshing to hear an apology. She had talked to Cenred and was able to get Merlin out of the contract, but he would not be paid for the last show. The fact that Merlin was still getting any money from Cenred was a miracle, and Merlin knew he had Morgana to thank for that. After a much longer talk the following day, Merlin conceded to having her stay on as his manager, as long as they went over all the contracts together. She readily agreed, and then immediately began searching for jobs for Merlin, to make it up to him.

It was the following Friday when Merlin was informed by his manager that a last minute cancelation got him a spot in the Pendragon Gallery that very night. A month ago Merlin wouldn’t have been able to contain his excitement. This time things would be different. No more immediate self-satisfaction. No more impulse. Merlin would think, would plan, and he would not hurt those around him, or allow himself to get hurt by those around him. He was in control. Anything could happen, and it was terrifying that Merlin had accepted this power over his life, but exhilarating that now he held the steering wheel.

That’s how Merlin found himself in the Pendragon Gallery, nearly a month later, sober as all hell, and beaming up at a gorgeous photo of Arthur on the wall. “I told you I had the perfect piece for tonight,” Morgana speculated from behind Merlin. When he turned to face his manager a familiar blond face was looking back at him with the same blue eyes from the portrait.

“Oh,” Merlin spat stupidly. “Hi.”

Morgana chuckled. “I forced him to come. I still felt like I needed to make it up to you, Merlin.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, just stood with his fists shoved in his pockets with a shy grin on his face. Merlin didn’t look away from Arthur. “Thanks, Morgana.” He didn’t notice when Morgana slipped away to the bar.

“It’s wonderful,” Arthur confessed softly.

Merlin shrugged. “I had pretty good inspiration to draw from.”

Arthur took a hand out of his pocket and scratched his blonde hair. “I’m sorry too, Merlin, for -”

“Don’t say it!” Merlin interrupted, jumping at the opportunity to grab Arthur’s hand. “Come here.” Merlin pulled Arthur closer to him. “Don’t worry about it. None of it matters.”

“None of it?”

“None of the bad stuff.”

Arthur chuckled. “What about the stuff you can’t remember?”

Merlin remained serious, not sure if he found that quite funny yet - he wasn’t sure if Arthur really did either. “I want to start over.”

“Okay,” Arthur huffed, eyes widening as Merlin leaned in. “The wheel is come full circle, I am here.”


	7. Epilogue: Forever and a Day

Arthur wasn’t brooding, he just didn’t really want to be at this art show. It was all the way downtown and he had rehearsal tomorrow. They were nearing hell week for Romeo and Juliet, and he was already making preparations for the next show of the season, The Odd Couple. He was very busy, but Morgana said she had a surprise for him. Arthur hated surprises, but he knew if Morgana had so much as called him, it was important.

Uther’s gallery was lacking a permanent exhibits section. He liked to keep art “fresh”, as he liked to call it, but really the man had no taste. If Arthur’s father knew a shred about real art he would have a whole gallery dedicated to classics. Arthur loved to come to art shows with Morgana, but he really only liked the art, not so much the people. The kinds of people who who were at these art shows were the socialites he had been forced to be around his entire life. He wanted to surround himself with people who were more down to earth, real; the people at these shows were anything but real.

The art that Uther tended to display was always a bit too abstract for Arthur’s taste. Not that he didn’t like abstract art, but these artists were at the point where they would put a dot on a canvas and call it art. He didn’t believe any of them actually had an ounce of talent in them.

Arthur was late by the time he arrived. He stumbled through the door a quarter after 8, which made him 45 minutes late. He trudged to his half-sister who was standing alone looking at a piece of art with one finely manicured hand resting on her hip; the other held a glass of champagne. She always seemed to know when he was approaching, because before he could even make himself known she turned to him, making the liquid in her glass swirl a bit. Eloquently dressed in a dark purple evening gown with her long black locks falling smoothly past her shoulder blades, Arthur would have admitted she looked beautiful if he didn’t hate her so much.

“Why did I need to come to this, Morgana?”

She smiled coyly at him. He hated when she did that. “It fell through. Don’t worry. I’ll get it at the next show, hopefully. We will see. Meanwhile, enjoy the party dear brother.” Without another word, Morgana disappeared into the sea of people.

“Splendid,” Arthur said to himself, wishing he hadn’t come at all.

“Isn’t it though?” a voice behind Arthur responded.

Arthur spun around to see a dark head of hair with two big ears attached. “What?”

“You were talking about the art, weren’t you?” the man asked; he looked mildly familiar.

“Um,” Arthur followed the man’s line of sight and noticed the art on the wall before him. It wasn’t anything special, just two birds in a tree. It was well done, but Arthur wasn’t captivated by it. “It’s alright.”

The man came closer to Arthur and wrapped his arms around him, an intimate gesture that would normally make Arthur retreat, but something in him held him anchored. “Look again, what do you see?”

“Two birds,” Arthur answered automatically.

The man hugged Arthur’s shoulder tighter and whispered in his ear. For some reason, Arthur didn’t pull away, in fact he was oddly turned on by it all. “Look harder. Don’t tell me what you see on the canvas, what do you see in your heart?”

Somehow, the man’s nonsense made sense. “Well,” Arthur began. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine painting it. He watched as an artist stroked a brush over the canvas delicately to create the clouds. He imagined an artist creating this from nothing. When he opened his eyes he could see the realistic depiction of the bluejay and red robin. It was - “magnificent.”

“Tell me about it.” Arthur was still looking at the painting, as the man’s arm was tenderly wrapped around his shoulder. “I think it’s the most beautiful work here. And I’ll never be that good.” Then the man slumped against Arthur, and plopped his head on Arthur’s shoulder. “But you don’t care about that, do you?”

“I don’t know…” The man had no boundaries, Arthur realized that his behavior was a bit inappropriate for public, and, more than that, for a first-time meeting. Reluctantly, Arthur peeled the man off him, and looked upon him with confusion, but some strange fondness. The black haired man didn’t look back at him; he was staring at the ground. “Hey, you alright?” Though it was clear the man was obviously drunk.

“Just dandy. I love being broke and jobless.” Then he brought himself upright and looked at Arthur square in the eye. When their eyes met, the rest of the room disappeared. Everything went white and all Arthur saw was the man in front of him. And he knew that face, those eyes. He had seen them before. Merlin Emrys. The only painter that Arthur loved that wasn’t already dead.

Arthur must have worn his surprise on his sleeve because Merlin cocked an eyebrow at him. “You all right?”

“You’re Merlin Emrys, aren’t you?” He couldn't help his nerves that started to build.

“Yes, I am. In the flesh. The one and only,” he said in mock importance, then is face fell. “The failure.” He burped. “What can I do you for?”

Arthur took Merlin’s hand and shook it hurriedly. “I am a big fan, I know that’s really cheesy to say, but I really do like your work.”

Merlin scoffed. “You should tell that to Uther. Hey, how do you know my name?”

“We’ve met before, at one of your art shows at the Round Gallery. Doesn’t matter, point is, can I get you a drink? I’d love to talk to you about your work.”

Merlin looked Arthur up and down, then down again for good measure. “Two drinks, and we don’t talk about my work at all.”

“Fine. But I can’t make any promises about that last one,” Arthur smiled, and Merlin returned his smile full force. It was endearing, pulling at Arthur heart in a sudden and strange way.

Arthur had met Merlin at an art show that Morgana had dragged him to. She said she was looking for some up and coming artists. The Round Gallery held shows at the end of every month that any artist could enter into. Arthur hadn’t expected to like any of the work he saw, most “up and coming” artist were not well known for a reason. But Arthur had agreed to go with Morgana; it was his birthday, and he didn’t want to pathetically spend it alone. Even though Morgana hadn’t said a thing about it being Arthur’s birthday, he at least appreciated that she had invited him.

When he first met Merlin, he held himself the same way he held himself now, hunched and a bit messy. Arthur knew he had been drinking both times, but the clumsiness seemed natural for Merlin. They reached the bar and Arthur ordered three drinks. As they waited for the bartender, who may have been flirting with Arthur, Merlin took this opportunity to drape his arm around Arthur again. “You know you didn’t tell me your name -”

“That will be 20 for the three,” the bartender cut in. She was cute, she had short pink hair that was snipped above her ears. Arthur wondered if he was straight whether he would find her attractive or not.

He handed her the money, plus a tip, and looked back at Merlin who was watching the people behind him. “They don’t even know what they are looking at, do they?”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked. At some point, Merlin’s hand had slipped down to Arthur’s waist. Now acutely aware of it, Arthur couldn’t pay attention to Merlin’s response. All he heard was the last bit.

“- and she lied. Well maybe not lied, but she shouldn’t have made it seem like a done deal. I just hate how people think they can judge art when they don’t even do it.” Merlin turned back to Arthur and gave him an odd look as if he had forgotten who he was talking to. He took one of the drinks from Arthur’s hand and chugged it down in one gulp. He then took the second from the bar and winked at Arthur. A flutter ran from Arthur’s stomach straight to his heart. Merlin's hand snaked from Arthur’s waist to his hand and before Arthur knew it, he was following Merlin outside to the patio.

Once in the cool night air, Arthur’s senses returned to him. He was following Merlin Emrys outside to presumably do things Arthur was not accustomed to doing on a first meeting. Especially not when the person he was doing these things with was an artist he idealized and who didn’t even know Arthur’s name. There was a moment of clarity when Arthur had made the decision to stop while he was ahead, and maybe reunite with Merlin once he was sober. But then he caught those beautiful blue eyes in the moonlight, and Arthur was lost. Soon, Merlin’s lips were on his, and Arthur made no effort to pull them away. In fact, he pulled Merlin closer and encouraged it.

They moved against a wall, Arthur pinned by Merlin; the artist’s hands held Arthur's wrists, and he couldn’t move away even if he wanted to. It was too much, Arthur had never done something like this before, and the exhilaration that came with that reminder only made it all the more enticing. Arthur couldn’t get enough of Merlin, and the drunk artist in front of him couldn’t either.

“Shit.” Arthur pulled away.

“No,” Merlin protested, “you can’t stop now, gorgeous.”

“You’re drunk,” Arthur stated, admittedly a bit rude.

Merlin scowled. “Well drink up then.”

Arthur’s drink had been placed on a nearby table at some point during the kissing. He quickly grabbed it and drank it down. Arthur didn’t know what had happened to Merlin’s other drink, but the artist had probably downed that quickly too. “Are you okay?”

“Let’s get you drunk so you’ll stop being so tense.” As if to prove a point, Merlin began massaging Arthur’s shoulders, sending waves of shivers through Arthur that he had not previously imagined possible. “My place?” Arthur must have still looked reluctant because Merlin got a devious look in his eyes, he lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows devilishly at Arthur. “I can show you my artwork.”

Back at Merlin’s flat, Arthur lost all prior inhibitions. First, Merlin’s living room was full of some of the most beautiful art Arthur had ever seen; second, Merlin had gotten Arthur to take two shots within 10 minutes; and last, Merlin would not stop touching Arthur - everywhere, and with little restraint. As much as Arthur wanted to be respectful - for the black haired artist had had much more to drink than Arthur had - he found himself in the midst of pleasure that he didn’t want to shy away from.

They were on Merlin’s couch, deeply tangled by the lips, when something caught Arthur’s eye. It was a painting hung over the telly. It had dark greys and blues mixed together forming heavy skies. In the foreground stood two figures, silhouetted by the oncoming storm, their hands clasped together. It was meant to look threatening, but Arthur gasped at it’s beauty. “Tell me about that one.” Arthur sat up and pointed to the canvas on the wall.

Merlin glanced at it briefly before turning again to Arthur, attention on his lips. “It’s a painting. Come here.”

But Arthur stopped him again. “What does it mean?”

Merlin kept his sapphire eyes on Arthur. “You really like my work that much?”

“Yes,” Arthur admitted.

Merlin furrowed his brow. “Really?” Arthur nodded. “You are a weird person, but I like you,” Merlin said as he pinched Arthur’s nose. Then he sat up next to Arthur, curling his legs with Arthur’s and hugging him around the waist. “It’s called ‘Falling’.”

“In love?” Arthur asked, sighing into Merlin’s soft ebony hair.

“Possibly. It’s about life. Taking life head on. It was the first thing I painted after I moved into this flat.”

Merlin nuzzled his nose into the crook of Arthur’s neck. “Who are the two people?”

“Everyone. It’s whoever you want it to be. It’s a father and son. It’s two sisters. It’s a knight and his king. It’s a servant and his master. It’s an artist and a critic. It’s two people in love. It’s…” Merlin’s voice was lost for a moment, Arthur nudged him back to life. The black haired man looked up at Arthur with eager eyes. “It’s us,” he whispered.

Something like gravity pulled Arthur to Merlin in a kiss that was by far the best Arthur had ever had in his entire life. “Falling?”

“Falling,” Merlin repeated. Suddenly, he was animated, extracting himself from Arthur’s grasp. “You know, that moment right before you do something you’ve never done before? You prepare yourself for something new, and no matter what, there is always that moment of doubt right before you do it. That moment where you wonder if you are going to do it right, or if you should have prepared more, or if you should even do it at all. That split second where you actually decide if you are going to go for it or not? That second lasts forever, it seems. It’s the second where you really find out if you are prepared or not. It’s easy to shy away in that fraction of a second, but it takes the resilient to power through that long second and go forward with what you were meant to do. That torturous second where you really make your decision - despite any planning or preparing you may have done - it’s the moment of truth,” Merlin paused and eyed the painting quickly. “That’s the storm. That’s life. That’s what we face every day till we live the life we are meant to live, where we live only in the seconds where we go forward and don’t retreat backwards.”

That’s when Arthur fell. He knew exactly what Merlin meant and decided to go forward. He leaned in and kissed Merlin, let Merlin take control, and let the rest of the night go forward. It was something he knew he wanted and Merlin could not have been more eager. Time moved like molasses, every minute one moment of perfection after the next.

When Arthur lay next to Merlin, breathing heavily with contentment, he realized this was something worth going for. This was something he wanted to explore more. Merlin rolled to his side on his bed and tucked the covers over his shoulder. Arthur followed, laying his head so close to Merlin’s he could smell the sweat and champagne. “This is the start of something good. I can tell.” Merlin hummed a response that Arthur couldn’t catch. “This is just the beginning, Merlin.” Then he drifted to sleep, dreaming of the possibilities to come.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a joke about Merlin getting too drunk and having a one night stand with Arthur. But of course the inspiration of Merlin as an artist and Arthur as an actor made me want to complete this story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Comments are always welcome and encouraged. Thank you!


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